


Soot and Sugar

by viksherenqueer



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Burnt Wings, Corportations (Good Omens), Demons Can't Fly (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Metaphysical Sex, Other, Overstimulation, Poetic Sex, Rimming, Wings, broken halos, halos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 22:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21004931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viksherenqueer/pseuds/viksherenqueer
Summary: This was something Aziraphale had only learned within the last few years since Armageddon didn't happen. Something Crowley had only shared with him quite recently, over an empty bottle of old scotch, with an air of vulnerability and insecurity that made the angel want nothing more than to seep the love from his pores and drown the demon in it. Crowley had been branded with the mark of the serpent, a mark he couldn't hide no matter how his form changed.~~~~~Or, a look into how Crowley and Aziraphale's forms differ and how the angel feels about this. Mostly it's just me rambling poetically about these two being in love.





	Soot and Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted to wax poetic about these two for a bit because im obsessed

Angels hadn't always had physical forms. At least, not in the sense that we consider. Not the tangible, breathing, feeling sort of physical. Way back when, when God herself created angels, they were made of nothing more than Her love, Her light, and perhaps a pinch of stardust. They were creatures with large white wings and burning rings of light around their heads. And they had eyes, oodles of them, allowing them to see the seams of the universe, the eternal light She rained, and far more.

It wasn't until later these creatures were given bodies, ones that could contain their Essence and make them exist on a physical plane. She had told them the bodies were her own design for the race of humans she planned on creating, and how she hand-crafted each and every one of them. This had gifted the angels with a new sense, touch. They had never been able to simply touch things before, to interact with the physical things around them. Before they had touched things only with their minds, never their hands. It was incredible, and all of the angels were very happy.

The angels had even learned how to change their forms slightly, they could grow out their hair or change the way it sat on their head. They could change the pigment of their skin and eyes. Giving them bodies had also given them a beautiful sense of individuality that hadn't existed before.

Soon, God even bestowed upon them clothing. Simple robes mostly, but made of a material far finer than silk that consisted solely of Her own hair.

These actions led to many things that make up the form of a present-day angel. Today, angels continue to use their gifted bodies. They look almost identical to any human, aside from the occasional odd pigmentation of their skin or eyes. Their countless eyes, their wings and halos, all exist on a metaphysical plane, only visible to those with the eyes to see them. Many of them wear clothes (that do not actually exist, not really) based off of human fashion. Even Heaven itself has taken the shape of a human city, housing the hustle and bustle of everyday angel activities.

Most angels hadn't changed their appearance in thousands of years though. If Aziraphale had to guess, it became considered inappropriate around the same time Lucifer began stirring up trouble in Heaven. Changing your form almost became a sign of questioning God herself like you didn't appreciate the gift given to you. Aziraphale personally didn't think God would give angels the power to change themselves if she didn't want them to, but then again, maybe it was a test. God liked her tests.

Aziraphale wasn't present during the Fall, much to his own relief. He had been off in the universe, assisting other angels in the creation of the Milky Way. Not that they couldn't feel God's wrath from there, permeating their bones and settling into the uneasy stomach acid they didn't know they had.

The vessels God had given the fallen angels didn't seem far too different than before the fall. Rearranged, but not by much. Most of their differences existed on the metaphysical plane, with their broken halos, ash-ridden wings, and blinded eyes. From what Aziraphale had heard, God had used these newfound demons as prototypes for many of the other creatures she planned to put on Earth. Their vessels had been burnt and mangled after the Fall, leaving the demons unable to move. Many of them had to change form, into something new, whilst their vessels healed.

This was something Aziraphale had only learned within the last few years since Armageddon didn't happen. Something Crowley had only shared with him quite recently, over an empty bottle of old scotch, with an air of vulnerability and insecurity that made the angel want nothing more than to seep the love from his pores and drown the demon in it. Crowley had been branded with the mark of the serpent, a mark he couldn't hide no matter how his form changed.

Most demons continued to use their humanoid forms, with a few minor changes. They often still displayed features of the creatures God had carved into them before the Fall. Some of them had transformed into amalgamations of creatures or had rotting, bubbling bits of flesh decorating their features. Crowley had once told him that this was a demon's way of spiting the form God had given them, of making it their own after they had been cast out. Aziraphale knew demons, like angels, could mask their forms with something more human when on the Earthly plane as to blend in easier. He hadn't learned that demons couldn't do this to the same extent as angels until sometime around the crucifixion of Jesus.

He had learned this from Crowley, who had appeared at his side, hair swept over her shoulder in a beautiful fall of red curls, thin form wrapped in black robes and yellow eyes gleaming in the desert sun. He had inquired as to why she didn't hide her eyes. Sure, she could simply make it so the humans didn't notice, but that took effort. He certainly didn't expect her answer. That she couldn't hide her eyes, not since the Fall. They were stitched into her form for the rest of time.

That being said, Crowley did possess a more demonic form. A variation of his humanoid vessel, with pointed fangs and a bifurcated tongue. This form had smooth, cool patches of scales along his elbows, knees, feet, and parts of his back. His nails grew, dark and sharpened, with points like razor blades. He could even grow horns if he wanted. He could still pick and choose bits of metaphysical form to display, though. He often kept his wings and halo put away, for reasons it had taken Aziraphale centuries to understand.

He had only seen Crowley's wings a few times around the beginning of Earth, and then on the plane of reality Crowley had summoned when Satan was arriving. Either of those times, he hadn't been paying the most attention. It wasn't until a bit after the world didn't end that Aziraphale found Crowley on the roof of his apartment building, wings spread out in the breeze for a quick stretch, that he understood. During the Fall, the angels all tried to save themselves with flight. Doing so though, caused their wings to be consumed in a rage of Hellfire. Their wings, the only angelic part of them left, burnt away as they fell. Crowley's wings were beautiful and dark, matte and of a texture Aziraphale had never seen before. He had asked Crowley if he could touch them, to which the other had hesitantly agreed. The angel hadn't understood why Crowley told him he was bound to get his hands dirty until he was touching the feathers. They lacked shine, even in the bright moonlight, because they were consumed in ash. The soot coated Aziraphale's fingers and fell to the ground of the rooftop. Aziraphale knew demons couldn't fly, but this cemented that fact into his mind. These wings were so fragile, to take flight would probably disintegrate them. 

He had made it a habit to ask to see Crowley's wings from time to time. He liked to touch them, despite the mess. But his true motive was to make Crowley feel comfortable in them, make them less of a reminder of bad things.

The first time he had seen Crowley without a shirt, he'd also seen the marks. The burns between his shoulder blades, where the Hellfire that had desecrated his wings had touched his skin. Aziraphale had made sure to often stroke those areas with the sweetest of touches, to sometimes coat them with a litany of sugar-sweet kisses and murmur the softest of phrases along the edges of Crowley's unwanted memories.

Several years of their relationship had gone by when Crowley first asked to see Aziraphale's halo. They had been laid up in bed, Aziraphale having brought Crowley some coffee that morning and settling in to cuddle with him and read. He had looked down at his love when the other softly spoke, a simple "angel?" to get his attention. "Angels still got halos, right? That didn't stop being a thing in the last fuckload of years, yah?"

Aziraphale had chuckled and nodded, threading his fingers through the hellscape hair Crowley had been growing out again. "Yes, we still have halos. Why do you ask?"

"Just never seen yours, s'all." He muttered, the Scottish accent he had taken to using at some point around the 19th century making his sleepy drawl even thicker.

"Oh, well I can show it to you if you'd like." Aziraphale hums, setting the book aside on the night table. It wasn't hard to summon his halo, the incandescent gleam of light filling the previously dimly lit room. His halo was large and round, covered in intricate carvings of patterns humans could never comprehend. Halos were another thing that differentiated angels from one another. Some angels were more golden than white, some had different shapes and patterns, some had offshoots that made them look like beautiful crowns that even the richest of royals could only dream of.

Crowley had initially winced at the intense light, but soon enough had reached up with hands that didn't exist, part of his Essence, to stroke along the band of light. Aziraphale had simply sighed, closing his eyes and enjoying the feel of his boundless form overlapping with Crowley's. He couldn't help but seep some of the warmth and light he had had an abundance of into the emptier parts of Crowley's Essence. The parts that had once held Her love, Her light, all the things he had been stripped of before the Fall. This was something he had taken to doing since he had discovered it was possible, back during their body swap. It had started on a much smaller scale, just permeating the fog of emotions out of himself when Crowley was around. Letting it cling to his hair, his skin, the air he breathed. It wasn't something he had been aware he was doing until Crowley pointed it out one day.

_"Angel?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"Dunno if you realized but you're taking up the whole damn block."_

_"What?" Aziraphale had been confused._

_"You're leaking your Essence just about everywhere." Crowley had shrugged, nursing an aged Rosé. "This mornin' there was a little accident outside, some kid who didn't know how to bloody well park yet, scratching up the back of that pricey Mercedes across the street. Y'know, that arse of a shopkeep who sells antiques. I was waiting for him to tear the brat a new one, but they were both peachy as can be. Kid apologized, and the guy said it was fine. Took me a bit to realize it's because you're just leaking sunshine and rainbows."_

Aziraphale had been a little embarrassed, had reigned in his energy to just his bookshop, and Crowley didn't mention it for a while.

At least until the angel was practically drowning him in it. Nights like these, with his halo in Crowley's non-existent grip, pumping every bit of love he could until he feared the demon might burst.

"Crowley, dear," Aziraphale sighed as the demon whines softly. The angel eased up his presence, giving the other the room to collect himself. He had leaned in to kiss Crowley's cheeks, ignoring his panting mouth and simply marking into his skin the way Crowley loved.

"Do demons have halos?" Aziraphale inquired after several minutes of just settling the heavy-set of his weight again Crowley, encompassing the other in his wings and just letting him come down from the high that followed such a rush of intense emotions.

"Yeah," Crowley murmured after a bit, quiet. Aziraphale then knowing he had struck a chord. "Not like yours though," he explained as he touched the juncture where Aziraphale's wings met his back. "You don't want to see it."

"Nonsense," Aziraphale brushed his wet lips over the curve of Crowley's Adam's apple, surging a spark of cosmic energy through the demon in a way that had him hissing out nonsense in a long-dead language. "I adore every part of you, my love. Please, let me see it."

It had taken a little more gentle coaxing, a few more words of adoration, another flood of kisses that touched not only skin but the Essence contained within. Soon enough though, Crowley was exposing his halo. Aziraphale had been overcome with all sense of emotions, an intimate sense of trust coursing through his being, a sadness that bit away at his heartstrings, and an anger that dissolved as he realized who it was for.

He had doubted Her before, what when hoards of people died or the first time he had felt Crowley's Essence, almost devoid of that beautiful sense of love that angels thrive on. He had been angry at her on rare occasions, only to beg for forgiveness and try to understand she had a plan and a reason for everything. But this, he couldn't even bother to apologize for his anger. Not yet, at least.

A halo was supposed to be a ring of light, pure and beautiful, emanating warmth and love in all its forms. This was not the case for Crowley's halo, though. No, his was devoid of light and warmth. The deepest black, as if made from the void of nothingness itself. With his countless eyes though, he could see it properly. The cracks and missing pieces like broken glass, the countless spikes that branch off in a circle around the remains of the Halo, many of them missing points or cracked down to the core. He could see blackness dripping, demon blood, as it flowed down bits of the halo. It looked painful and messy, just like Crowley's wings, just like his Essence.

Aziraphale hadn't hesitated to tell Crowley it was beautiful, just like the rest of him. He touched it with his hands, both real and unreal, not minding the slick of black blood that coated his skin and soon the sheets. He didn't care about anything besides drowning the demon in as much love as he could muster, inside and out.

He whispered praise into the hollow of Crowley's collarbone, fingers all over his skin and in his hair. He leaked his Essence, warm and bright, into Crowley until the other couldn't even speak anymore for fear of choking on it. He slid down his body, each kiss charged with holy energy that picked Crowley apart and put him together again.

Aziraphale had tongued into him, sweet but needy, until Crowley was on the edge of bursting. He had slid inside of him, slick simply because he willed himself to be, and rocked into the demon. He had pressed his weight on the other, just the way he knew Crowley liked.

He was a part of every inch of Crowley, inside his body, pressed down against it with his wings around him, his Essence overlapping with the other's until he felt impossibly full. Neither of them had lasted long like that, their consciousness melding together until they didn't know who was feeling what or making what noise. They were together, finishing in unison with loud cries and shuddering hips. 

After their afterglow, once Aziraphale had pulled his Essence and his cock from Crowley's body, he had wrapped around the other in a protective, almost possessive sense. Crowley was lost in subspace, every part of his being spent. There were drying tears on his cheeks from the overstimulation, which the angel had kissed away gently. He had cradled the demon he loved for hours, and when the other woke, he had fixed him some tea and they had taken a bath together.

After that, Crowley sometimes took his halo out on his own.


End file.
